


The Meeting on the Turret Stairs

by hannelore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Generation Relationship, F/M, Masturbation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Stolen Moments, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9335363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannelore/pseuds/hannelore
Summary: Taken directly from the Kinky Kristmas prompt, which fits perfectly: "How did a decent man find himself here? And what can a decent man do next, that won't break his heart?"





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PurpleFluffyCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/gifts).



> Many thanks to my betas pauraque and alisanne (and the very patient mods) as well as purplefluffycat whose prompt inspired this fic! Title taken from the painting "The Meeting on the Turret Stairs" by Frederic William Burton, which also inspired much of the story. Hermione is in her 7th year (6th year in flashbacks).

The castle was in ruins. Filius felt the ache of battle in his bones, but nothing hurt more than his heart. Every schoolteacher had a certain connection to Hogwarts as a living entity with a soul, but never before had he felt so much pain within its walls. Not even in the old war. 

"Professor --"

He looked up, and for a startled moment she looked exactly like Rowena, embodiment of all Ravenclaw. The dust motes seemed to circle her head, halo-like, as she knelt down in front of him. He embraced her as he wept for all that was lost.

_One year ago_

Filius examined one leg of the stool, frowning as he wiggled it a little. A little too unsteady; he ought to ask Argus to fix it. Standing upon the stool for class wasn't exactly his preference, but it was necessary. The students always seemed to be more at ease when he was level with their height -- hence the stool -- but it didn't mean he liked it.

"Excuse me, Professor?"

Her voice rang out in the empty room. No longer the girlish pitch he remembered from so many years ago. 

"Sorry, are you here?" she called out again. These days, he could hear her voice separate from her peers. Other young women still seemed shrill and irritating to his ears, but Hermione's voice was a clarion bell. 

"Mmm yes, back 'round the podium," he said, feigning nonchalance. 

"Oh!" Hermione appeared a little abashed at having to look down at him. "I -- I didn't mean to intrude."

"You didn’t.” Fillius managed a smile. "How can I help you, Miss Granger?"

"I think I left my jumper here. Did you happen to see it?"

He cleared his throat and pointed over to where she had been sitting that afternoon. She followed his gaze and then make a noise of satisfaction.

"Professor McGonagall gets very cross if we lose them." She set down her books and pulled her jumper over her head, lifting her hair free with both hands. "My mum doesn't really know how to knit, so...”

"Good thing you remembered," he said, his voice trembling slightly. Hermione was not a forgetful student, Filius knew that quite well by now. She raised her gaze to meet his and he sensed she was attempting to look demure. It was a little too exaggerated, as if she were attempting to mirror something she'd seen others do.

"I know you're quite busy," Filius blurted out. "But I'm trimming the tree in the Great Hall this evening and… and Argus has turned his ankle, you see. I could use a hand. If you might have time."

"I would love to!" Hermione said. She clutched her books a little closer to her chest, nodding quickly. "After dinner, then?"

\---

"See if you can't put a little more periwinkle in those lights," Filius called out. "The gold and silver is lovely, but maybe a bit of colour?"

"I can't quite do it as well as you," Hermione said, straining on tiptoe as she concentrated her wand upon a floating strand of lights. The lightness in her voice made him feel hazy, as if he were drinking. He hadn't felt like this for decades. She had come alone that night, as he had hoped, but their silences were not as awkward as they had been earlier that afternoon.

"You're a natural at Charms," Filius said as he conjured a small flock of tiny doves. "Imagination is key, not just the incantation."

Hermione sat down cross-legged and looked up at the giant evergreen in wonder. The doves scattered and lit on branches here and there, cooing softly.

"I thought spells were a lot of memorization," Hermione said, rolling her wand between her fingertips. "No?"

"Memorization and heart," Fillius said, trying not to stare at her hands. "You have to see what it is you want to create. To _feel_ it."

"You think I'm too bookish," Hermione said, her lip curling into a slight pout.

"No --"

"But I _am_ ," Hermione said with a sigh. "I want to feel the spells as you do, not just be perfect at them. Does that make sense?"

Filius beckoned to her. "Hold my hand."

Hermione blinked in surprise, the colour rising to her cheeks. "Sorry?"

"I mean -- here, hold my wand hand. I'm trying to help you understand what it is I'm trying to explain to you."

Hermione touched his hand and Filius felt his heart rate rise suddenly.

"About casting _Charms_ ," he said with a little laugh. Hermione laughed too, and she slid her fingers up and over his hand until he touched his wand. Her touch was soft, and the scent of her, clean and lovely, mingled with pine.

"Feel it with your heart," he said quietly, trying to still himself. He felt himself foolishly wanting to impress her, but somehow he felt he didn't need to. "Then, the spell."

He concentrated, and the closeness of her mingled with real desire tingled from his toes to his fingers. It was one of his favourite charms, ever since he had been a child. From the tip of his wand blossomed Christmas roses, fragrant as if they were real. She gasped as they drew themselves into a wreath and settled gently upon the floor. 

"These would look beautiful on the mantle above the fireplace in the common room," Hermione said. "May I have them?"

"They're yours," Filius said. 

\----

"I know that besides your expertise in Charms that you've spoken of being a Duelling Champion," she said. 

Hermione had lingered behind after everyone had left class. This time she said she'd forgotten a schoolbook, and Filius was fairly sure the book wasn't even hers, but she seems to be enjoying the ruse as much as he was. "I was hoping perhaps you might, erm… train me."

"Train you?" he repeated. "As I said many times, you're quite talented in your own right."

"I'm decent, but I know things are going to get much worse." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "I want to be prepared."

"Of course you do," Filius said, clambering atop his stool. He pretended to busy himself with the papers on his podium, but couldn't help glancing back at her. "You are being prepared, trust me."

"But will I excel when it counts?" Hermione seemed to be pleading with him. He again saw the young woman she now was, which both thrilled and frightened him. Filius had seen her talking in hushed tones with Weasley and Potter. They always seemed to know when trouble was coming far before any of the staff even caught a whiff. She touched a piece of parchment that was just bare millimeters from his hand. 

"Is all I really need to know written here? Or is it --" She glanced over her shoulder toward the door and then she carefully placed her hand on his chest, "--here?"

His face flushed. He wanted to look away, but couldn't.

"I appreciate your appreciation of my intellect but I feel --"

Before he could finish, there was a commotion in the hallway and she drew away her hand quickly. He knew she must have felt his heart pounding, how could she not? How could she not hear it even now?

"Could we continue this conversation somewhere else?"

He gestured toward the small study he kept adjacent to the Charms classroom. He discreetly closed the door behind them, his chest tight with wonder and confusion.

Hermione sat down in the armchair by the small hearth. Her silence was unnerving, yet he didn't feel uncomfortable, just perplexed. 

"Hermione?" He whispered it like a secret, the name he had only said to himself in the quiet recesses of his room.

She looked up at him, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously.

"Show me a charm you've shown a woman before," Hermione said. The request took him aback, but at the same time it was a moment where he felt he utterly loved her. No more simple longing, he loved her. He stood back and composed himself. Lifting his wand to the ceiling, he called out the words that brought forth a burst of petals -- rose, lily, daisy, every flower he could think of. They soared and swirled as if caught up in a gentle breeze, circling around her. 

Hermione laughed in delight, her arms outstretched.

\---

Weeks later, he was climbing the stairs up to Ravenclaw tower. He heard footsteps pattering down the stairs. They stopped and looked at each other, but before he could speak, Hermione stepped past him. He turned away, but then he felt her grasp his hand. Dizzy, he reached out his other hand to touch the wall. The very stones seemed to warn him against everything that vibrated through his body. He couldn't look at her and he wondered if she was also looking away. 

Hermione squeezed his hand gently, then let go. She was gone.

\---

It was after curfew when he heard a soft knock at his study door. He knotted his bathrobe a little more tightly, his hand hesitating on the knob. 

"He doesn't know I have it," Hermione said. She was also dressed for bed, her hair tousled as if she had quickly put it up and rushed out of her room. She even sounded breathless. She thrust a book into his hands. "I need to know if this has any hidden Charms on it."

"He?" Filius said, confused. "Whose book is this?" He glanced at the cover. _Advanced Potion Making._

"We're not sure," Hermione said. "But it's dangerous, I'm certain of it. Will you check for me?"

He took his wand from the nightstand and tapped the book. Nothing leapt out at him, but her urgency made him look more deeply. He shook his head.

"Nothing?"

"There's nothing I sense or see," Filius said, handing it back to her. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

She shook her head abruptly. She turned to leave, but then hesitated. Hermione pulled up her nightgown, hitching it up just above her waist.

"Would you -- would you touch my thighs?" Her voice was strained. Pink knickers with just a little bit of lace at her waist. His arousal was overwhelming him. 

He touched the inside of her left thigh and she shivered a little. His fingers drew little circles up and down her leg, which made her giggle a little.

"Like this?"

She nodded, still not turning to look at him. "Yes."

He tried not to tremble too much as he stroked her, his fingertips lightly touching. His face was just level with the bottom of her arse and he wanted to kiss it all over. She groaned and she dropped the book and pushed her hand down into her knickers. 

"It tickles a little," Hermione said, letting out a little, breathless laugh. "Don't stop..." 

She rubbed herself quickly, gasping and moaning as he kissed the back of her thighs. Hermione suddenly let out a little cry, shaking with tiny spasms as she came. He pressed his face against her thigh, his breathing as ragged as hers. 

The tower bell rang, tolling the hour.

"I should go," Hermione turned around, her face still flushed. He stumbled back as she straightened her nightgown and reached for the fallen book. 

Hermione knelt down quickly and kissed him. 

\---

Filius was taking down the Christmas ornaments in the Great Hall when he heard her approach. 

"Don't take them down yet," she said. There was a slight lilt to her voice, a slur to her words, and he realized with shock she had been drinking. 

"Why not?"

"Because I want to see it this way always.” Hermione waved her hand vaguely upward. "Beautiful and different. Holidays will be over and then nothing's special anymore."

"Hermione --"

"Did I just imagine it all?" Hermione said. "I mean we did, I -- I wanted, I want --"

"I did -- do too," Filius pleaded. He glanced around the room quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. "But if we carry on, people will talk." 

"Right," Hermione said. Her eyes were brimming with tears. "Right. I'll go on with idiot boys like Cormac McLaggan like I'm supposed to, shall I?"

He didn't have the concentration to keep all the shimmering ornaments in the air any longer. They all tumbled to the floor with a crash.

\---

_present day_

Filius wiped his eyes, pulling away from her. She looked tired beyond her years, and for a brief, sad moment, he saw the two of them as if the same age. Covered in the same dust and the same blood of their loved ones. 

"I'm sorry.” Filius wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. He let out a shuddering sigh. His throat felt raw.

"I've decided I'm coming back to Hogwarts next term," Hermione said.

"What do you mean?" He stared at her, uncomprehending. 

"I didn't complete my studies," she said. "I didn't do anything but fight. I just want to be a student. I want to learn."

Filius felt his throat tighten, afraid he would burst into tears again. But her gentle smile warmed him as she sat down next to him amid the rubble and destruction.

"Would you teach me?"


End file.
